


Beauty

by MadKingMomo (kawaiicello)



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: M/M, there isn't much lovey stuff in here gomen, warning for chihiro death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiicello/pseuds/MadKingMomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Mondo could, he would dress Chihiro in the satin of the sky and weave the beauty of the rainforest into his hair, flowers scattered, leafy vines hanging from his bangs. He would grind the stars into dust and sprinkle it across Chihiro and breath life into him. He would spill oceans down his face until the salt cleansed his tainted body and a necklace of sea-life dangled from his neck, sand glittering like gems against his delicate skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

The first thing to hit him was the deafening silence. 

There was no more sound from the world, it was as if everything had been put on mute. He did not hear the dumbbell clatter to the ground, nor the soft drips of life slipping through his fingers and spilling uselessly onto the carpet. He did not hear the rustle of clothes as he slid gracelessly to the floor, his hand reaching out to gently caress the cool porcelain of a broken doll, viciously torn apart from the very hand that was stroking it's face so carefully. 

She... no, he was still flawless even in death.

His jewelled eyes that had once spoken of a happiness and a kind of love that Mondo had never known were empty now and the mysteries that they once held were gone, the key locked and tossed away. Mondo would never be able to find a kindness like his again, a pure innocence that was as soft as dove's feathers and yet as rock-solid and resilient as steel. Passion that burned in the depths of the amber stained-glass. The feathers were burnt now, the steel bent and the fire smothered, but even so they still contained a shadow, a memory of what used to be and that was what hurt Mondo the most. They looked into his soul, those eyes, those shadows. They mirrored his actions, taunting him in a way that would have once infuriated him but now they did nothing more than slump his defeated shoulders and hang his head in shame. They were the reason why he could scarcely bring himself to gaze upon Chihiro's eyes. 

Soft feathers framed the jewels, augmenting the shade to be a colour that he couldn't even begin to describe with the simple, barbaric words of a dictionary. It was a kind of beauty that could only be told with strokes of earth, a sprinkling of life and a canvas filled with the gleeful innocence of a peaceful child. It was a kind of beauty that Mondo would never be able to speak of again, his foul, guilty mouth would only taint it, dirty it like it had the body. The only thing he was able to do was destroy, ruin lives and cause hurt, leaving behind pain and suffering in his wake. He could not paint a story, or a program. He could not manipulate words to display in beauty what he meant, what he felt. He could not even recall what emotions felt like, really. What was it like to be sad? To be happy? What was it like to walk outside with the sun shining down upon a smile that radiated warmth, to have the only thought circulating around your head be ‘Life is Beautiful’? To dash through a meadow of emerald green that reflected all the beauty of Chihiro’s frozen eyes, to laugh, throw yourself down upon the mossy cushion that was Mother Earth and gaze at the marshmallow clouds with a heart that soared above the thermals like a red-tailed hawk? 

But when he brought his head out of the marshmallow clouds to gaze upon the beautiful corpse, they grew ragged and electric, a storm now brewing around in his head. For a moment it seemed like the storm would grow worse and torrential rain would pour from eyes to wash away his grief. But he swallowed the choking feeling, small shudders subsiding as he managed to bring himself to look upon Chihiro’s face. His silenced lips were parted slightly, almost accusingly, as if asking him why? Why did you do it Mondo? I thought that you were strong. But when Mondo looked again he saw nothing but loneliness and longing in those pearl lips. 

Then, for a moment, Mondo simply couldn't bring himself to look at the ravaged child's face. Even though he was strong, he couldn't do it. He couldn't bear to look at the crushed, caved-in skull, the accusatory lips, the innocent eyes or the steady trickle of life-blood that gushed from the wound.   
Hours had passed before his wavering eyes made contact with Chihiro's head. From the forehead up the innocent child looked like a monster. The wound upon his head and the devastation that it caused across his delicate face was the stuff you would find from nightmares. His usually bouncy brown hair was matted with blood, liquid life now caked upon his forehead, flecks of it caught in his feathery lashes like glitter. Chunks of matter lay, spread out across the cheerfully bright foam, the shine of a bone torn through the soft skin. In the days that followed, it would be this image that would haunt Mondo every second of every minute of every hour of every day. 

Twin waterfalls gushed from his eyes and Mondo let himself show weakness, the first time in a long while. The sea of the living washed away the stain of death from the programmer's face, leaving a fresh sea bed in it's wake, high tide now over. But that wasn't enough to present the gift of life to the corpse and Chihiro remained as still as ever, unmoving, unforgiving.

They were both broken now, in a sense. One had a broken body and one had a broken mind. It was almost funny how polar-opposite they always were. They had never really been the same before, one with a strong mind and weak body and one with a weak mind and a strong body. One was cute, innocent, the model citizen. One was scary, intimidating, the kind of person you warn your children not to befriend. It was only now that they would be similar, only now that they had something in common and Mondo would do anything to change that.   
But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything really and that was a feeling that he was beginning to loathe. 

Nevertheless, it was a feeling. An emotion of complete and utter defeat, submissiveness. But a feeling. He felt like all he wanted to do was tear out the stars from the sky, rip them apart and toss their bleeding bodies aside into the vast blue satin that stretched across the earth until silvery-red stains began to claim the fabric as their own. He would turn the world red, washing the blood of his brother, Chihiro and the fallen stars off of his hands, wiping them dry across continent after continent until the whole earth was soaked and bloody, dripping life onto the strands of space. He would stand on that shattered earth, looking up at the sky, and he would curse. He would scream desperate profanities until his throat was raw, until his lips were swollen, until the tears ran dry down his face. He would collapse onto the sticky earth, tearing it apart until his hands oozed liquid red, his life merging with the life of his victims. He would dig and dig, until his hands were worn down to nothing more than bloody stumps, scarcely scraping the earth.   
But he couldn't. 

He couldn’t do much other than to watch the soft trickle of blood as it streamed from Chihiro’s head, the foam mats soaking it up, a stain of red spreading across the sea of blue. If he couldn’t...If he couldn’t do anything to change the disgusting reality that he had created, he could at least keep a promise. Men kept promises and although he didn’t feel particularly manly or strong, it was the least that he could do. For Chihiro. 

Which was why he found himself later, stolen Student ID resting in his pocket and a corpse in his hand, standing in the middle of the female changing room. He knew that no matter what he did, it was likely that Kirigiri would discover the truth, but it was worth a shot. Chihiro deserved an attempt. Well, he deserved so much more. He deserved to live out the rest of his life in a paradise, in a quaint oak cottage in the country-side where the sun would shine down on the shimmering grass and the air would be filled with the sounds of the warbles and songs of the birds as they flutter through the sky. He deserved to have a white-picket fence, a loving wife and unlimited wifi. He didn’t deserve this end, being strung up by a multi cord in a changing room, matter and life draining from his head upon the unforgiving ground. 

If Mondo could, he would dress Chihiro in the satin of the sky and weave the beauty of the rainforest into his hair, flowers scattered, leafy vines hanging from his bangs. He would grind the stars into dust and sprinkle it across Chihiro and breath life into him. He would spill oceans down his face until the salt cleansed his tainted body and a necklace of sea-life dangled from his neck, sand glittering like gems against his delicate skin. But something as disgustingly sentimental like that wasn’t possible, of course not. Nowadays it seemed like nothing he wanted to do was possible anymore. So instead Chihiro hung by a cord in the female changing room, a cheap imitation of the Genocider Syo murders that Togami had briefly shown him in the library. 

When it came to the finishing touch, the bloody kanji that would be etched across the wall, Mondo went to dip his finger in the pool of gore that was gathering by Chihiro’s feet, but he stopped himself. It wouldn’t be fair to take more from Chihiro, he’d already taken his life and now he was going to steal his blood too? No, he wouldn’t. Reaching for his handy knife that he kept stowed in the depths of one of his pockets, Mondo carved a C into the flesh of his stomach, a place that he was almost certain that no one would spot. Plunging his hand into the wound, Mondo couldn’t help but let out a slight wince, biting his tongue as soon as the weak noise had escaped. With his blood the sketched the words ‘Bloody Fever,’ something that he hoped would be heartless and cruel enough for the others to assume it was the work of a serial killer. 

It wasn’t past him to acknowledge that what he was doing was a weak person’s doing. He knew that if he was strong, truly strong like Chihiro was, he’d fess up to the murder, grit his teeth and bare it when the punishment arrived. But he wasn’t, the thought of going outside, of feeling the sun engulf his skin, the scent of motor oil mingling with the sharp, clear smell of freshly mown grass as he drove through the suburbs. It was all too much for him, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t.

Walking over to the ruined youth, Mondo reached into the skirt, pocketing Chihiro’s student ID. Even if he wasn’t strong enough to accept his fate, he was at least going to keep his promise. He would never tell anyone about Chihiro’s secret and surely that was alright, right? Mondo exited the scene with that final thought resonating within his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there,
> 
> This is my first fanfiction on both Dangan Ronpa and this website. Chimondo is my OTP and when Chihiro died I was absolutely crushed, so eventually I channelled my feelings into this story. I hope I did them some justice!
> 
> <3 Momo


End file.
